


Vibrant

by sunstrucked



Series: The World Through Ganda Hamdan's Eyes [1]
Category: Bumilangit Cinematic Universe, Gundala (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, its a rewrite thats what it is, what even is this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:47:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23001442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunstrucked/pseuds/sunstrucked
Summary: Ganda braved himself, his eyes meeting the man's, he had never seen them before, yet, looking at them, it felt like Ganda, at last, was home.
Relationships: Ghani Zulham (Ghazul)/Ganda Hamdan
Series: The World Through Ganda Hamdan's Eyes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1653037
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Vibrant

**Author's Note:**

> Based on that prompt where you see the world in black and white until the day you meet your soulmate.
> 
> Yes, I wrote this before for different fandom with the same title and similar wording but what the hell.

Growing up with colorblindness was not something that he was born knowing. When he was a kid, he figured out how to color pictures by reading the labels on the crayons — this was probably why his colorblindness went unnoticed by his parents until he was well into his tween years. He was told later after some revelatory event of not being able to name the color of his own childhood bike that there was this entire range of the world that he was missing out on. The world, through Ganda Hamdan's eyes, was nothing but a different shades of gray with occasional greenish hue blurred together in what seemed like one unfinished painting. 

This altered perception of his wasn’t so much of a major cause of issue in his everyday lives, it existed more as a slight annoyance. One that he had learned to tolerate over the years. Sure, it was kinda hard especially when he started living by himself — he never really knew whether or not his shirt matches his trousers every morning when he got dressed, he never really knew whether the meat was ready or not when he cooked, and he also struggled with reading report charts that were color labeled — but all those things were solvable; he learned to only get monochromatic colored clothes, used thermometer when cooking, and told his assistant to make sure that the charts that he got were understandable through his eyes.

That afternoon Ganda woke up from a dreamless nap on his couch to the buzzing coming from the table a few inches away from him; it was an alarm, the text ‘parliament inauguration dinner’ appeared on the screen above the snooze and dismiss button. He groaned. He was never really a fan of this kind of event, events where he had to meet new people, shake hands, make small talks, which, he knew, was kind of the point of his job. Ganda got up to a sitting position, running his palm through his face to regain some sort of consciousness, then he made his way to the bathroom to get ready.

A set of suit, fresh shirt, and a brand new pair of dress shoes were already laid out on his bed for tonight’s event thanks to his assistant. After taking a shower, he got dressed quickly before the mirror. He eyed his reflection, smoothing the crease and wrinkles on his attire. Ganda didn’t bother to put on a tie for the evening, for him it was all just a formality, he would come, shake a few hands, have a few drinks, then go home — no need to dress fancy with tie, cufflinks, and whatnot. 

The drive to the venue was long, it was 8 PM on a weekend, of course the streets would be jammed with people going for a night out. Ganda was late, but he didn’t fuss or stress, instead he laid back on his seat, turning the volume of the stereo higher, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel to the tune of Phill Collins’ Strangers Like Me. The phone on the seat next to him was buzzing repeatedly with notifications from his assistant, Ganda flipped it over without paying any mind, ignoring the texts. 

Once he arrived, Ganda pulled over in front of the main lobby and was immediately greeted by a valet. He stepped out of his car, shoved his phone into his breast pocket, and made his way inside. One of the reasons why he hated events like this was because he sucked at it. Ganda was never good with social interactions, mainly because he tend to feel intimidated by people that he hadn't known very well. Stepping in the room, Ganda could find several familiar faces here and there, but all of them were in someone else's company already; talking and mingling. So, Ganda decided to step to the sideline, settling down on the bar. 

Just before he could make out his order to the bartender, he felt a soft tap on his shoulder.

_"Mr. Ganda Hamdan."_

Ganda turned around almost immediately. Blinking in the process.

In the split second Ganda laid eyes on the figure before him, everything around him changed. What caught his eyes at first was the color of the drink in the glass that the man was nursing in his hand, it was not _grey_ , it was dark yet vibrant at the same time. He peered, eyes glued to the unfamiliar sight, not being able to say a thing. Ganda tried blinking, once, then twice, making sure his eyes didn't deceive him — it didn't. No matter how many times or how quick he blink, the color was still there. Ganda braved himself, his eyes meeting the man's, he had never seen them before, yet, looking at them, it felt like Ganda, at last, was home.

Ganda studied the man's well defined features before his eyes trailed back down, noticing how the man before him was dressed in a suit similar to the color of the drink in his hand, it was wine, Ganda deduced from the shape of the glass. Ganda marveled at the sight before him, caressing the burning crimson with his eyes.

_"Mr. Hamdan."_

That voice sparked something inside of him. What the hell happened? Ganda felt his heart rushing to the overstimulation of his sight — everything was _alive,_ Ganda was stunned, still in absolute awe, he couldn't process the whole thing just yet. Ganda spread his eyes across the room, taking in every single detail before him. The interior of the hall, the decorations, the people, the foods, the drinks. It was strange, yet familiar. It was like seeing the finished product of a painting that he had seen sketched for years. Ganda's eyes grew damp by the second. 

He slumped backwards, leaning against the bar as he felt his feet were about to give up on him, bracing himself for support. 

"Mr. Hamdan," the man repeated his words, "I'm Ghani Zulham, are you — okay?"

**Author's Note:**

> There will be a 2nd part :)


End file.
